


light between the stitches

by Quintessence



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares, a found family is fine, hxhrpbb2020, if you don't have a decent biological family, mito for killua's mother 2kforever, zoldyck family dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27373570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessence/pseuds/Quintessence
Summary: “The list continues, on and on. For every instance of kindness Mito’s shown him, Killua can recall a mirror image of his family’s cruelty.  He isn’t quite sure how to feel about being treated like this.  Part of him wants to enjoy it, wants to pull the feelings of warmth and contentment tight around himself, like a thick blanket, and burrow deep inside of it.  But another part of him wants to shout.  Wants to tell Mito that she should just stop with this whole charade, that he knows she couldn’t truly want to do him all these favors, and that she shouldn’t mask the contempt and resentment Killua knows she’s feeling.  And another part of him, perhaps the largest part of them all, inexplicably wants to break down and sob.”In need of a place to lay low while the Zoldycks are looking for him, Killua comes to stay with Mito and Abe on Whale Island, and finds that the Freecss are absolutely nothing like what he’s come to expect from a family.
Relationships: Mito Freecs & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 187
Kudos: 303
Collections: Genuary 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphiraLua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphiraLua/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!!! i apologize for the lengthy author’s note, but i just have SO much to say about this fic!!!!
> 
> first, this was written for the hxh rarepair big bang. the bang was awesome--super well run & organized & the mods were incredibly cool & i want to express my gratitude to everyone who put in the hard work to make this such a successful event!!!!
> 
> of course, the second i heard about a rarepair big bang that accepted gen fics, i jumped at the chance to write this idea that’s been in the back of my head for ages. i know most of the content on my account is romance, but i actually started off in fandom reading pretty much solely gen fic. in my early fandom days, i didn’t really understand shipping as a concept & the only fics i wanted to read were of characters with crappy childhoods finding a family that would give them the love they deserved XD so in a lot of ways, this fic is a gift to my younger self. and i really am so excited to share a story that’s so near and dear to me!!!
> 
> i would be remiss if i didn’t thank my dear friend sapphira for her invaluable cheerleading as i worked on this story. she read each chapter as i wrote it & gave me the much needed encouragement to keep at it. knowing i had a reader waiting on the next chapter really made all the difference in my motivation, so i can’t thank her enough.
> 
> okay, i promise i'm wrapping things up soon!!! i do just want to take a moment to remind everyone to heed the tags on this fic. while the emphasis is on love & healing, it does explore themes of trauma & abuse. if that doesn’t sound like what you’re in the mood for, that’s a-okay.
> 
> fic is complete & will update every tuesday for the next four weeks!!!
> 
> alright, i'm finally done. please enjoy the fic!!!

As Killua climbs the hill to Gon’s house on Whale Island, he considers turning back.

Nothing about the day is foreboding--the sky is perfectly, almost idyllically clear, and although it’s mid-May, the heat today isn’t particularly oppressive. The ever-present scent of salt air is comforting, and the path up the hill is lined with wildflowers. It’s the farthest thing from a bad omen that Killua could imagine. But nonetheless, he can’t help but feel that he’s making a mistake.

He needs a place to lay low for a while, somewhere his family won’t think to come looking for him. Whale Island is so small and isolated that Gon insisted it was the obvious choice, but Killua still isn’t fully convinced. The island is hardly large enough to appear on a map, certainly, and the Freecss’ address isn’t accessible online, not even through the most extensive Hunter databases, but is it really enough? Killua would never forgive himself if harm befell Gon’s family on his account. The smartest choice would be to keep on the move--never stay in one town longer than a day or two, keep his movements unpredictable, sleep in caves and under bridges if it came to that--but Gon simply wouldn’t allow that sort of thing. And perhaps the only force in this world stronger than the Zoldycks is Gon when he’s made up his mind about something. So Killua, like always when it came to Gon, had eventually relented.

Still, he thinks, as he crests the hill and starts up the gravel path to the front door, it isn’t too late to turn back. He could leave now, take the first ship out of Whale Island, and be on his way. However small the chance that Killua’s putting Mito and Abe in danger, it isn’t zero. If he drew a family of assassins to the Freecss’ front door, would he ever be able to forgive himself?

Killua hesitates for a moment on the front step. Is it worth it, really? Are the precautions they’re taking actually enough? How much is he truly imposing on them by staying here? Killua bows his head and takes a deep breath. If he were smart, he’d turn back. If he were smart, he’d stop relying on anyone for anything. He’s a liability, nothing more. The closer he gets to people, the greater the risk.

Killua holds perfectly still on the front step, hardly daring to breathe. Besides the risk, the whole thing simply seems too good to be true, someone inviting him into their home. It still feels like if he moves too suddenly, he’ll scare the whole thing off. So he waits, unmoving, unblinking, fists clenched tight at his sides. He can’t bring himself to knock. He half expects that when he does, no one will answer the door at all, that they’ll simply ignore him until he manages to take the hint and leaves the way he came. His insides go heavy as he imagines it, slinking back down the hill like a kicked dog, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the Freecss’ house growing smaller and smaller behind him.

But then, all at once, the door swings open wide and before he realizes what’s happening, Killua finds himself swiftly pulled into a hug.

“Killua!” Mito exclaims, squeezing him tighter. “What were you doing just standing out here? You should’ve rung the doorbell.”

For a moment, Killua holds perfectly still. He can’t recall the last time anyone opened the door and hugged him like this. Those sorts of warm, exuberant greetings certainly never happened in his family. When Killua came home, he simply hoped that no one would notice him, that he’d be able to sneak through the door and slip into his room without drawing the ire of his parents or brothers. But Mito doesn’t seem like she’d ever permit that sort of thing--no, the moment she lays eyes on him, she simply has to hug him, and then has to pull him closer still and press a kiss to his hair. And finally, very slowly, Killua reaches up and returns the embrace.

Mito smells good--like laundry and fresh bread--and her arms around Killua are equal parts tight and gentle. Killua finds himself slowly relaxing against her. It’s nice, being embraced like this, before he’s even set foot in the house. It’s as if she’s happy to see him. Killua can’t help how warm and buoyant he feels at that thought.

At last Mito pulls back, but her hands stay gripping Killua’s shoulders, and she holds him at arm’s length, appraising him.

“You’re taller than the last time I saw you,” she says.

Killua isn’t exactly sure how to respond to that, so he stays quiet.

“But you look like you haven’t had a decent meal in ages,” she continues. “Come in, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Killua’s about to protest that he isn’t hungry, until he realizes, abruptly, that he is. Starving, actually. Mito’s right--he hadn’t stopped for food on the whole voyage to Whale Island. It seemed like too much of a risk, even popping into a convenience store to grab a sandwich, with his family looking for him. He hadn’t realized how completely ravenous he was--he’d been trained to ignore unimportant things like hunger and thirst and exhaustion--but it suddenly hits him at once. He hasn’t eaten in days, if not longer. For as much as he doesn’t want to impose on Mito any more than he already is, the pull of having something, anything, to eat is too strong to resist.

So he allows Mito to usher him into the kitchen and sit him at the table as she busies herself at the counter. It feels wrong, somehow, like Killua should be on his feet as well, helping her, rather than simply being waited on. It feels like far too much, for her to put down two thick slices of bread with strawberry jam in front of him without Killua doing anything in return. He thanks her--of course he does--but he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow being ungrateful.

Mito sits down in the chair opposite him as he tentatively takes a bite of the bread. He’s doing his best not to eat too quickly--he’s hungry enough that he could practically swallow each slice whole if he let himself, but he doesn’t want to seem rude. Killua’s never particularly cared about table manners before, not unless they were being strictly, mercilessly enforced, but he’s also rarely been a guest in anyone’s home before. As strange as it is, he wants to make a good impression.

But as he takes that first bite, it’s all Killua can do not to shove the bread into his mouth as fast as possible. He’s already hungry, and the bread and jam are so impossibly good. Killua’s eaten strawberry jam before, but it’s never tasted like this before. It’s sweet and tart and almost as juicy as if he were biting into a fresh strawberry. And the bread is soft and chewy and light in the center, with the slightest crust on the outside. Perhaps it’s just his hunger clouding his judgment, but Killua struggles to remember having a meal that’s been even half this good.

“It’s really good,” Killua says, once he’s swallowed.

Mito smiles.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Killua nods, and eagerly takes another bite.

Already, Killua’s resolve is crumbling. He knows the smartest choice would be to leave Whale Island and never return, but after being embraced so warmly at the door and fed such good food, he can’t imagine bringing himself to walk away from this sort of hospitality and kindness.

In fairness, the whole thing had been Gon’s idea. As soon as they’d gotten word through Kurapika that Killua’s family was looking for him, was trying to bring him back home to convince him to take his rightful place as the Zoldyck heir, Gon had insisted upon it.

“Just go hide out at my place, with Mito and Abe. Whale Island is about as off the grid as it gets,” he’d said.

“Absolutely not,” Killua had responded. “I’m not going to put your family in danger like that.”

Gon had sighed.

“She’s my mom, and my great-grandmother. I wouldn’t send you there if I couldn’t be sure it was perfectly safe.”

So Gon had laid out the plan--they’d talk with Kurapika, use all his underworld connections to monitor the Zoldyck’s movements. They’d rely on their allies in the Hunter Association as well. Gon wouldn’t come with Killua to the island--he’d be keeping watch on the mainland, checking in daily with their various contacts. In the meantime, he and Kurapika and Leorio would be strategizing about how best to confront the Zoldycks. Killua wouldn’t be at the Freecss’ house longer than six weeks. By then, Gon had assured him, they’d have the time to formulate a plan and gather the resources necessary to face the Zoldycks head on.

“It’s temporary,” Gon had assured him. “You’re not hiding out indefinitely; just long enough for us to figure out what to do.”

Killua hadn’t been convinced.

“I promise,” Gon had continued. “If your family gets within three hundred miles of Whale Island, we’ll know.”

Eventually, after enough reassurance, Killua had agreed it was safe. Or as safe as could be, given the circumstances.

“Still,” Killua had said, “I don’t feel right just freeloading off your family for six weeks. That’s not fair to them.”

So Gon had proposed a solution. Killua could help around the house. Mito could keep up with the day-to-day tasks of laundry and dishes and general cleaning easily enough, there were a few particularly challenging projects that had piled up over the years. The yard needed weeding, the gutters needed to be cleaned out, the shed had to be organized, and there were about a dozen trips worth of donations that someone had to carry into town.

That had assuaged Killua’s guilt a little more, too. If Mito really did need the help, if he was able to repay her, even if not completely, for letting him stay with her for a while, the arrangement sounded at least a bit more reasonable.

And then Gon had gone and gotten Mito on the phone, and that had been the end of it.

“You tell Killua that I’m not going to let him sleep out on the street and scrounge for meals when I’ve got a place for him to stay. I’ll come get him myself if it comes to that.”

It hadn’t even been on speaker, but Killua could still hear Mito’s unwavering tone with the phone pressed to Gon’s ear. Killua supposed Gon must’ve gotten that stubbornness from somewhere.

So eventually, when faced with the immovable objects that were Gon and Mito, Killua had relented. Gon would check in regularly, keep Killua updated on his family’s movements, and they already had an escape plan fully committed to memory, but Killua finally agreed. He’d stay with Mito and Abe for six weeks, until they had finally formed the plan to deal with the Zoldycks.

“Do you want any more?” Mito asks.

Killua blinks, breaking from his reverie. He looks down at his plate--he’d been so lost in thought that he’d eaten both slices of bread without even realizing it.

“I’m okay, thanks,” Killua replies. It’s true; the bread and jam had been surprisingly filling, and he’s perfectly satisfied now. The gnawing, desperate hunger at last assuaged, Killua finds that he’s comfortably sleepy. He hadn’t realized how tense and edgy the hunger had been making him until it was gone, and he now finds himself very relaxed and content.

“You’re probably tired from traveling, right?” Killua is about to protest that he’s fine, actually, but Mito doesn’t wait for an answer. “So you should just relax for the day. I know Gon said you wanted to help around the house, but that can wait until tomorrow. You should take it easy today.”

Killua is about to say that Mito’s being ridiculous; after treating him so kindly, embracing him and welcoming him in and giving him something to eat, surely he has to repay her somehow. He owes her something now, doesn’t he? He couldn’t simply laze about the house after she’s already done so much for him. But then he catches her eye and recognizes that expression instantly; he’s seen it on Gon a thousand times. It’s that particular set to her jaw and gleam in her eyes that leaves absolutely no room for questions or argument.

Fine. Killua won’t fight her on this. He’ll spend the rest of the day lying around if that’s what she really wants. He’ll just work twice as hard tomorrow to make up for it. So Killua merely nods, resolving to pay her back somehow.

Mito shows Killua to the living room, inviting him to sit down on the couch and turning on the television. Abe is curled up in the recliner in the corner, dozing, her breathing slow and relaxed. Mito encourages Killua to select whatever he wants to watch, and Killua nods, but in truth, he isn’t paying any attention to what’s on the screen. He simply wants to think.

He’s only been here ten minutes, maybe, and his head is already spinning. Everything that’s happened from the moment Killua opened the door hasn’t made any sense. Mito embracing Killua, pressing a kiss to his hair, somehow knowing he was hungry with nothing but a glance, fixing him something to eat, encouraging him to relax despite the very clear terms of this entire arrangement--it’s all so strange.

Whenever Killua had been to Whale Island before, Mito had been kind. Of course she had. But Gon was always there too. And Killua had always assumed that that had been the explanation. Gon was her son, after all, so it made sense that she’d hug him, or bring him a snack, or smile warmly at him. And Killua had always assumed that she’d done those things for him because it had just been convenient; she’d already been taking care of Gon, so it wasn’t that much trouble to lump Killua in along with him.

But Gon isn’t here now. It’s just Killua. And people don’t go out of their way for Killua. Back home, he can’t recall a time anyone ever hugged him, or noticed he was hungry and insisted he eat, or told him to relax after a long day. Killua isn’t the sort of person people take care of. Not like this, anyway. Not like he’s a child, someone who needs care and attention and consideration. 

The whole thing puts him on edge. He can’t keep imposing on Mito like this. People have their limits, after all, a point at which that well of kindness and generosity at last runs dry. He doesn’t want to push Mito to that point any faster than he has to, doesn’t want to keep asking more of her until she’s finally had enough, until she tells him to leave for good. This sort of hospitality couldn’t possibly be endless. Killua’s long outgrown his belief in those sorts of fairy tales.

But despite Killua’s resolution not to ask any more of Mito than absolutely necessary, she still seems inexplicably determined to give. As the day progresses, Killua loses track of the amount of times he says, “Thank you.” He’s never said it so many times before in his life. He says it when Mito brings him a blanket to curl up with on the couch. And when she brings him a mug of tea and sets it down on the coffee table. And when she serves him dinner, the food just as delicious and satisfying as he recalled it being. And when she tells him she already put fresh sheets on the bed in Gon’s room. And when she says that he should sleep in as late as he wants tomorrow, because he could still use some rest after his journey.

As Killua lies in bed that night, the crickets chirping outside the window, he estimates that “Thank you” accounted for at least fifty percent of what he had said today. The whole thing is just so strange _.  _ He didn’t ask for any of the things she did for him; she just  _ did  _ them. As if it were somehow important to her that Killua be as comfortable and satisfied as possible. And now, as he drifts off to the comforting sound of the crickets and the far-off crash of the ocean, he wonders if he could figure out a way to ration it. The kindness. A way to get Mito to slow down somehow. He doesn’t want to use it up too quickly, the care and gentleness. He doesn’t want to see what happens when he uses it up for good.

* * *

“I meant it when I said you could sleep in,” Mito says warmly, as Killua enters the kitchen in the morning. She’s sitting at the table, hands wrapped tightly around a steaming mug, and she smiles right at Killua, as if she were somehow happy to see him.

“I’ve always been an early riser,” he replies.

Killua stops halfway to the kitchen table, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to open up her cabinets and start going through her things; he knows that sort of thing can seem rude. But if he sits down, it’ll look like he’s expecting her to get something for him instead. So he lingers near the refrigerator, not knowing exactly what to do with his limbs.

“Well, come on and sit down,” Mito says, standing up from the table. Killua quickly takes a seat, grateful to have an answer to the unspoken question. He has plenty of experience with getting things wrong, with the cruelty and anger that always follow, and he doesn’t want to provoke that sort of thing from Mito.

“Do you want some coffee?” Mito asks, already getting a mug out of the cabinet.

“Um. Yeah. That would be great.”

Mito pours him a cup, then sets down a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar in front of him.

“And how about scrambled eggs? Do you like those?”

Killua hesitates for a moment, and then nods.

“Coming right up!” Mito says brightly, heading to the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of eggs.

She seems like a natural in the kitchen, moving with such ease and confidence as she melts butter in the pan, cracks the eggs into a bowl, stirs them, and pours the mixture into the frying pan. Killua merely watches, taking intermittent sips of his coffee. He feels as if he’s half holding his breath, unable to exhale completely. As if he’s waiting for something, although he isn’t sure what.

“So,” Mito says, as she pushes the eggs around the pan with a spatula, “I know you wanted to help out while you were here.”

Killua puts down his mug.

“Um, yeah.”

Mito turns off the stove and slides the eggs onto a plate.

“Well, I won’t turn down the help,” she says, putting the plate down in front of him. “I really do appreciate that you offered.”

Killua takes the salt and pepper from the table and sprinkles some on the eggs.

“Gon said there were a few big projects. I thought I’d start on weeding the garden, if that’s okay.”

Mito smiles.

“That would be perfect--it’s gotten a bit out of hand back there. Thank you for taking care of it.”

Killua blinks. It’s odd, for her to thank him. This was the whole deal in the first place, wasn’t it? You don’t thank someone for just doing what’s expected of them. You thank them when they go out of their way, when they do more than what’s necessary. Why would she thank him for simply doing what he said he would?

The rules seem very different here, Killua thinks, taking another bite of his eggs. Completely unlike what he learned growing up. He’ll have to pay very close attention, figure out exactly how things are done. He’ll have to get them right.

* * *

Weeding the garden isn’t easy work. Regardless of Killua’s training, of his expertise with Nen, of his innate strength, it’s still challenging. The sun is hot overhead, and crouching down near the ground makes his back and knees sore. The ground is hard and dry from the heat, and before he even realizes, Killua has dirt smudged on his clothes and up his arms.

Still, the challenging but repetitive work is almost welcome. It gives Killua time to think. Time to ponder the past day or so, not yet even twenty four hours, and all that’s transpired.

The truth is that Mito has done more for Killua in the day he’s been here than his family did for him in twelve years. It never mattered to his family if he was hungry. No, they’d watch him collapse, weak and trembling after he’d been denied food for a week, and simply drag him up roughly by the arm, grip tight enough to bruise, and tell him to continue training. Mito, on the other hand, noticed Killua could use a good meal and didn’t hesitate for even a moment to bring him something to eat.

And there was the matter of how Mito allowed him to spend an afternoon simply lazing around because she thought he might be tired. And she didn’t just allow it--she absolutely insisted that he take a day to rest. His family, on the other hand, would gladly keep him awake for a week at a time as part of his training. He’d be stumbling from the sheer exhaustion, vision blurring and limbs refusing to do what he asked of them, and it had never mattered to them in the slightest.

The list continues, on and on. For every instance of kindness he’s been shown, Killua can recall a mirror image of cruelty. He isn’t quite sure how to feel about being treated like this. Part of him wants to enjoy it, wants to pull the feelings of warmth and contentment tight around himself, like a thick blanket, and burrow deep inside of it. But another part of him wants to shout. Wants to tell Mito that she should just stop with this whole charade, that he knows she couldn’t truly want to do him all these favors, and that she shouldn’t mask the contempt and resentment Killua knows she’s feeling. And another part of him, perhaps the largest part of them all, inexplicably wants to break down and sob.

“Killua, you want a drink?”

Mito’s voice pulls Killua sharply back to the present. He lifts his head from where he’d been pulling at an especially stubborn weed. Mito is shutting the back door behind herself and walking towards Killua with a tall glass of iced tea. The condensation has already begun to gather on the side of the glass, and Killua is suddenly overwhelmed by how thirsty he is.

Mito crouches down beside him on the ground and offers the glass.

“You’ve been out here for a few hours already, and it’s too hot not to be drinking something.”

Killua takes the glass. There’s just another point to add on to his already perplexing list. When had it ever mattered to anyone whether he was thirsty or hot?

“Thank you,” he says, putting the glass to his lips.

The tea is so blissfully cold and not overly sweet, and before he can stop himself, he’s drained half the glass in one go.

“Looks like you really needed that,” Mito says, smiling. Killua nods.

“I’ll bring you another one in a little while, okay? It’s not safe to be out sweating in this heat without a drink now and then.”

Killua blinks. It probably wouldn’t do any good to explain that after enduring a decade of torture and brutality, he no longer concerns himself with things like minor dehydration.

“That would be great,” he says instead. “Thank you.”

There it is again. “Thank you.” No doubt he’s been overusing those words since the moment he got here.

Once Killua’s finished the glass of iced tea, Mito heads back inside, and Killua’s left to try to make sense of this impossible generosity. After all, he’s supposed to be helping her, isn’t he? Not the other way around. But she still thought to bring him a drink, as if it mattered to her that Killua was thirsty. As if she felt the need to be helping him.

He wipes at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, then stretches his arms high about his head, trying to work out some of the stiffness in his shoulders, before turning his attention back to the weeds.

But for as inscrutable as he finds Mito’s endless favors, Killua finally admits to himself, very quietly and very tentatively, that it’s nice. It’s nice that someone wants to feed him when he’s hungry, or bring him a drink when it’s hot. It’s nice to be smiled at and spoken to kindly. He’s never been taken care of like this. Gon was always kind to him, certainly, but Mito is different somehow. There’s something unique about the way she looks after him, even if Killua can’t quite find the words for it yet. And he can’t help but smile, hesitantly and softly, at the peculiar warmth that blossoms in his chest at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so very much for reading <3 comments are never required but always appreciated & i reply to each one!!! you can also holler at me on [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/) bc i love chatting with people on there!!!
> 
> see you all in a week!!! please take good care until then <3 xo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!!!! first, thank you so much for your wonderful comments on the last chapter. the love that people have already shown this fic via comments is frankly overwhelming & has been bringing me so much joy!!!
> 
> please note that this chapter delves into the implied/referenced abuse tag & exploration of trauma a bit more deeply than ch 1. it was actually one of my two favorite chapters to write in this story, but i don't want anyone to be blindsided with content they'd rather avoid.
> 
> other than that, please enjoy!!! i can't wait to hear what you all think of this one!!!!

When Killua enters the kitchen on his third morning on Whale Island, the room is empty save for a note on the table.

_ Good morning, Killua! _

_ Had to run into town to pick up a few tailoring projects. I’ll be back soon. Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast! I really won’t be long. _

_ Mito xx _

Killua holds the note for several long moments, appraising it, before slipping it discreetly into his pocket. He can’t exactly explain why he’s compelled to hang onto it, but he is. It might have something to do with the fact that he can’t recall anyone ever leaving behind a note for him before, and how inexplicably nice it feels to have one. How it feels like Mito had thought of him before she had left. And how he likes that, someone thinking of him. Or it might have to do with how she signed it--two x’s. How no one’s ever signed a letter to him like that before, and how he finds himself strangely fixated on those four small lines at the bottom of the page. Or it might have to do with how she reassured him twice that she’d be back soon, and how that was probably a bit excessive, but how Killua likes it all the same. Whatever the reason, he folds it into quarters and tucks it deep into his pocket, and feels oddly satisfied to have it there.

Killua does help himself to breakfast--more of the bread with strawberry jam he’d had on his first afternoon here--and makes a cup of coffee as well. It’s such a peaceful morning, alone in the sun-warmed kitchen. Killua isn’t sure why exactly he feels so relaxed and comfortable, but it sits with a pleasant weight in all of his limbs, leaving him feeling unusually solid and real. The bread and coffee are perfectly filling, and Killua can’t help but think that he really could get used to this, having a kitchen stocked with plenty of food that he can help himself to whenever he pleases and leisurely mornings to spend enjoying his breakfast.

The dishwasher is almost completely full when Killua puts his used plate and mug on the rack, he figures might as well run it for Mito. He can dry everything and put it all away by the time she’s back, too. It’s the least he can do--Mito’s fed him, and given him a bed to sleep in, and welcomed him so warmly, and he’d like to feel that he’s evened the score between them, even by a little. He’d like to feel that he no longer owes her more than he could ever repay. The dishwasher won’t fully balance things, not by a long shot, but it’s a start.

In truth, Killua’s never used a dishwasher before. He’d always had butlers to take care of those sorts of things at home, and he and Gon had never stayed somewhere that had one. Still, it can’t be that challenging. He’ll just take the bottle of blue liquid dish soap from the counter by the sink, pour a generous amount into that little compartment he finds on the inside of the door, and set it to run. There, he’s managed it. He’ll head out into the garden and get back to weeding and trimming the hedges, and when he comes back in for a drink, he’ll put everything away. Hopefully Mito will appreciate it. Hopefully she’ll understand that Killua doesn’t take his stay here for granted, and is doing his utmost to repay her for it as best he can.

* * *

Weeding the garden is still slow, sweaty work. Killua tries to get started as early as he can to avoid the heat of the day, but even in the morning, the sun beats down mercilessly overhead. Still, it isn’t entirely unpleasant. Killua actually likes the tiredness he feels at the end of the day, the slight ache in his muscles and the sweat dried on his skin. It makes him feel like he’s accomplished something, like he’s put in a hard day’s work and is entitled to a long, cool shower and a night of sound sleep. And it’s calming, in its own way, having such a clearly defined goal and repeating the same steps, over and over, until he’s achieved it. It allows his mind to quiet, bringing a stillness to his thoughts he can’t exactly describe. Perhaps in another life, Killua could have been a gardener. If things had been different, maybe he could’ve developed a talent for keeping things alive, rather than the opposite.

Still, after an hour, his mouth is dry and the sweat’s begun to sting his eyes, and he thinks he’s entitled to a drink. He’ll take a short break inside, dry and put away the dishes, and hopefully be back in the garden by the time Mito’s home. As he heads in the back door, into the blissful shade of the house, he decides that he won’t mention the dishes. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself like that, make it look like he’s only seeking praise and gratitude--but hopefully Mito will be happy nonetheless. He can’t help but be pleased with himself. He likes the thought of helping her, of finding ways to repay her kindness, however small they may be.

But the moment Killua takes a step into the kitchen, that warm satisfaction is replaced by a hot, pulsing horror.

The kitchen is absolutely covered in a thick, iridescent blanket of bubbles. The source is clear--all of it is overflowing from the dishwasher. Killua must’ve done something wrong when he turned it on. Maybe he didn’t have the settings right, or somehow put the dishes in incorrectly. Whatever the mistake was, it was undoubtedly egregious, because the bubbles are everywhere, cascading out of the edges of the dishwasher, along the floor, all the way to the kitchen table.

For several long moments, Killua simply stands there, rooted to the spot. He merely looks at the mess, his whole body trembling and his stomach clenching ever tighter with a sick desperation. His thoughts are hazy and far away, swallowed up by the heat that’s creeping up through his chest and flushing all his skin. All he’s capable of thinking is that he’d done it wrong somehow. That he’d only been trying to help, but that he’s so completely useless he can’t run a goddamn dishwasher without ruining absolutely everything. And that he’s sorry, that he’s so, so sorry and he hadn’t meant to cause any trouble. And then one thought comes through the haze of panic with startling clarity.

Mito is going to ask him to leave.

Of course she is. She’ll be furious, and she’ll shout at Killua for how stupid he is, and he’ll deserve every word, every bit of anger and contempt she’ll feel towards him, and then she’ll tell him to leave. A mistake like this isn’t just forgiven. Killua understands that much, at least. He doesn’t get to cause a mess like this, ruin things so completely, be so unforgivably stupid, and emerge unscathed. Mito probably wouldn’t hurt him, not like his family, wouldn’t leave him in a bloody, trembling heap on the floor. But she won’t permit him to stay here after he’s done something like this. She just won’t.

His only hope, his only chance of somehow salvaging this, is to clean it up before she gets back. If Killua can just find where she keeps the mop and somehow manage to scrub every inch of the kitchen without Mito seeing it, he might get to stay. He has to try, at least. He doesn’t want to leave this all behind, the kindness and the gentleness and the warmth. In just three days, Killua’s grown far too accustomed to these countless comforts to have them torn away from him so sharply.

So Killua clenches his fists tight at his sides and all but runs into the hall to check the closet for any cleaning supplies. If they’re not here, he could look in the little cupboard in the bathroom next. One way or another, he’ll find it and he’ll fix it. He has no other choice.

But as Killua fumbles with the chain to turn on the lightbulb in the closet, he hears an unmistakable sound. The sound of a key turning in the lock on the front door.

The panic overtakes him, stronger this time, like a wave that pulls him into its curl and slams him against the seafloor. His vision goes cloudy and hazy and his whole body grows impossibly hotter.

Killua had always thought that people must be exaggerating about deers freezing in the face of oncoming cars. Surely that sort of thing was a myth. A being couldn’t watch as danger barreled towards it, tires squealing and horn blaring, and stand frozen to the spot. Instincts would have to kick in at some point, wouldn’t they? What could be more primal and intense than the will to survive? Faced with complete catastrophe, wouldn’t all living things have the good sense to get out of the way?

But as Killua shuts the closet and watches as Mito comes in the door and sets down several garment bags, he realizes it’s true. As she kicks off her shoes and greets him warmly, he understands that there is terror profound enough to silence every other thought, every other impulse, until the only thing a person can do is stand perfectly still and endure it. As Mito comes down the hall and turns into the kitchen, as the headlights grow ever-brighter until they white out Killua’s vision completely, he finds he can’t do anything. He can’t do anything at all.

Mito’s footsteps abruptly stop in the doorway to the kitchen and she gasps, soft but audible. And all at once, the haze clears. Killua can move again. He can speak. He can think, although only frantically. And so in an instant he’s at her side, his whole body shaking violently.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, his voice unsteady. “I was just trying to help. I wanted to do the dishes for you. But something went wrong. I was outside, so I only just saw it, but I was looking for something to clean it up--”

“Killua,” Mito says gently.

But Killua finds he can’t stop. If he can just explain, if he just find the right words, he can fix this. He has to. He doesn’t want to consider the alternative.

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. I promise. And I’ll do anything else you ask of me. Anything. I know I’m stupid, and I know you’re angry, but I’ll make it right somehow. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. Just tell me what to do and I’ll--”

“Killua, honey.”

“I’m sorry.” Killua’s voice is high and shaky and desperate, but he can’t manage to get it under control. “You have to believe me. I know how much I’m imposing, being here. I know how much you’ve put up with already. So you’re right to be angry. But I will fix it. I  _ will _ . If you can just tell me where--”

“Honey,” Mito says again, reaching out a hand to rest on Killua’s shoulder.

And Killua can’t help it--he flinches, violently, in spite of himself, and goes abruptly silent. It’s stupid, like everything else he’s done today. He knows Mito wouldn’t hurt him, not like his family would. But with his whole body shaking and his very veins flooded with the hot rush of panic, he acts on pure instinct. When he’s this terrified, when he’s done something this horrible, he can’t help but jump at the slightest movement. Can’t help but flinch when anyone reaches out a hand toward him.

“Killua,” Mito says again, her voice hardly above a whisper and her eyes soft and bright with something Killua can’t quite place. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Killua blinks, brow furrowing. What is she talking about? Of course she’s angry. How could she not be, when Killua was this inexcusably stupid? Anyone in their right mind would be absolutely furious.

“I’m not mad at you. It’s a mess, sure, and we’re going to have to work together to clean it up, but it was just an accident. You don’t get angry with people for accidents. That’s not fair. So it’s okay. I mean that.”

Killua simply stares. It sounds like she means it, as impossible as that would be. Her voice is slow and soft, and there isn’t a hint of fury in her eyes. Just an odd sort of sadness.

“I don’t want you to worry about this for a second more. I’m sure you felt awful when you saw what happened, and I don’t want you to go on feeling like that. You’re not stupid. You just made a mistake. And that happens to everyone. Okay?”

Killua can’t explain it, but his throat abruptly tightens. His whole body goes heavy and weak, as if he’d been carrying something enormous and only just set it down. He worries his voice won’t be steady if he tries to speak, so he simply nods.

Mito keeps her hand on Killua’s shoulder. Her touch is so gentle--she doesn’t grip him hard, or push insistently against him. No, she hardly rests the weight of her hand on him at all, her hand warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. Killua lets out a weak, shuddery exhale.

“I’ll get the cleaning supplies, okay? And we’ll take care of this.”

Killua nods, and Mito starts down the hall. After a few steps, she stops.

“It was the soap, by the way,” she says gently. “You can’t put the liquid dish soap you use for hand washing dishes in a dishwasher. You have to use dishwashing detergent so there aren’t any bubbles. It was a really easy mistake to make, so you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

And then she simply continues down the hall and towards the stairs. No anger, no shouting. No turning him away with a cold, hardly restrained fury. Just a soft reassurance and gentle, even footsteps on the stairs.

* * *

Killua half holds his breath as they clean the kitchen. As Mito grabs a mop and a bucket, as they rinse out the dishwasher, wash off all the dishes, and swab the floor clean, he expects that the other shoe will drop. He expects that the more they clean, the more Mito realizes what a mess Killua made and how much trouble it is to have him here, she’ll decide she doesn’t want him around anymore. She’ll come to her senses, to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that Killua isn’t welcome any longer, and she’ll turn him away.

But she doesn’t. No, the whole time they clean the kitchen, she’s perfectly calm and pleasant. Her movements never become sharp and sudden, her footsteps don’t grow alarmingly heavy, she doesn’t huff out a quick, irritated breath. Killua’s learned the signs over the years, the small hints that someone is angry with him, and he watches for them intently. But Mito doesn’t show a single one. If anything, she’s somehow even kinder than usual, giving Killua extra smiles and more encouragement and thanks as they clean. And when they finally finish the kitchen, she reassures Killua one final time that she isn’t angry in the slightest.

As Killua returns to the backyard, beginning to trim some of the hedges, his head spins. Absolutely nothing about Mito’s behavior makes any sense. She should be angry. Any reasonable person would be. His family would be utterly furious.

Killua can call to mind dozens of instances he’d done something similar at home, made a mistake through his own carelessness and ignorance, and the harsh, merciless cruelty he’d be met with each time. He’d be tied down or chained up, whipped or poisoned or electrocuted, denied food or rest, forced to train and train until at last his legs gave out beneath him. It never mattered how much he cried, how much he begged or trembled or pleaded. Actions had consequences, his family always reminded him. And Killua would have to learn to endure his.

But Mito hadn’t done anything of the sort. She’d been nothing but kind and patient with him. Killua had been punished, long and agonizing and unyielding, for far less at home. But Mito had only reassured him, and touched him gently, and spoken to him softly and evenly, as if the largest concern in the whole situation was simply that Killua was upset. That sort of thing wasn’t possible, was it? That well of hospitality and kindness that Killua had noted on his first day here should’ve been drained completely by this final mistake. This should’ve been the last straw, the moment Mito turned him away for good.

But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. No, after Killua’s been out working for an hour or two, she actually comes out to him with another drink--a glass of lemonade this time. Killua hesitates before he takes it, the bewilderment paralyzing him for just a moment. After everything he did today, she couldn’t truly be doing him another favor. She couldn’t really still worry that he was hot and thirsty. Shouldn’t she think it was fair, if he were parched and sweating for hours in the heat? Shouldn’t that bring her some satisfaction in its own way, even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud?

“Do you not like lemonade?” Mito asks. “I can get you something else if you want.”

Killua starts slightly, then takes the glass in his hand.

“No, it’s great. Sorry, just got lost in thought there for a moment.”

Killua puts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. The drink is perfectly cold and delicious and sweet.

“You don’t hesitate to come in and get more if you get too hot, alright?”

Killua merely nods and then watches, transfixed, as Mito heads back inside. Despite having every reason to be, it seems that she truly isn’t angry. That she truly has no plan to punish him for his transgression, not even in the subtle, quiet sort of way. No, it really does seem like Killua’s mistake was immediately forgiven. Or, perhaps, that she somehow didn’t think there was anything to forgive in the first place. That kind of thing seems impossible, a sort of kindness that stretches beyond Killua’s comprehension. But that might be how things are here. For whatever reason, Whale Island remains utterly, breathtakingly impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no but seriously--don't use regular liquid dish soap in a dishwasher. it's bad news. definitely google pictures tho if you need a good laugh!!!
> 
> anyway, thank you so very much for reading!!!! as always, comments are never required but deeply deeply treasured & i reply to each one!!!! you can also come say hey on [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com//) because i love chatting with folks on there!!!
> 
> see you all next week!!! take good care & stay safe until then <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!!!! i hope it's been a good week since i saw you last!!!! i'm vv excited to share this ch with you & can't wait to hear your thoughts!!!
> 
> please be aware that there's a dream sequence in this chapter involving some onscreen abuse. there isn't any graphically described violence, but some people still might not enjoy reading it. just wanted to give everyone the heads up!!!!
> 
> alright, please enjoy!!!!

Over the course of a few weeks, Killua falls into a comfortable routine. His days follow a soothing, predictable pattern of waking, working, and sleeping. That’s something Killua’s come to love about life on Whale Island in just the short time he’s stayed here--it’s predictable. At home, there were explosives rigged everywhere, hair-trigger bombs set to go off at the slightest provocation. Some were landmines--lose track of your step for just a moment and tread somewhere you shouldn’t and the whole thing would explode. Others seemed to run on a timer. No matter how carefully Killua tip-toed through his every interaction, no matter how vigilantly he avoided the triggers, there were explosions he had no way of predicting. The clock had simply ticked down to zero, and there would be nothing to do but dash for the closest cover.

But not on Whale Island. The incident with the dishwasher was the sort of thing that would’ve brought about a near-nuclear explosion at home, but Mito hadn’t been annoyed in the slightest. No, the whole time he’s been here, things have been perfectly calm and pleasant. No one’s shouted, or slammed doors, or shattered the nearest breakable object. Not even once. It’s all so predictable. No landmines, no time bombs. As far as Killua can tell, no bombs at all.

The work is satisfying, too. When Killua at last finishes with the backyard, he wishes he’d had the foresight to take a photo when he first began. It would’ve brought him an undeniable pleasure to compare the before and after--the weeds completely gone, the hedges trimmed, the flowers transplanted somewhere with better sunlight. It’s nice, seeing the evidence of his work so clearly in front of him. It’s gratifying.

He starts on the gutters next, cleaning out all the fallen leaves that accumulated in them over the months. That, too, is strangely enjoyable. Up on the roof, the breeze is cooler and the sky is somehow impossibly more blue. It’s not easy work, but Killua likes watching his progress, likes bringing order to the chaos. He manages the whole job in only a few days, and can’t help but be proud of himself.

And Mito keeps showing Killua kindness after impossible kindness. Sometimes, when Killua’s sprawled on the couch after a long day, idly watching whatever’s on the television, she’ll place down a bowl of sliced fruit for him without a word. The first time she’d done it, he’d hesitated, unsure if she was simply setting them down for a moment. But after several long minutes, Killua realized, with something close to awe, that they were meant for him. And he’d taken a slow, tentative bite, the chunk of melon sweeter than he could ever remember tasting.

And then there was the time Killua had made an offhand comment about having never baked before as Mito pulled a pie out of the oven. He’d meant it in a complimentary way, trying to tell Mito he appreciated her effort when he himself hardly knew a teaspoon from a tablespoon. But she had placed her hands on her hips and furrowed his brow at him, frowning slightly.

“You’ve never baked? Not once?”

Killua had shaken his head.

“Not even when you were little, with the premade cookie dough from the grocery store?”

Killua had shaken his head again.

And then Mito had nodded, turning back to the pie without another word, and Killua had assumed the subject was dropped. But the following morning, she’d told him that the chores could wait for a bit. She had to teach him how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

The cookies had been wonderful, sweet and chewy and delicious, and they’d made enough to last for days. He’d had the last of them tonight, right after dinner. Killua hadn’t wanted to take the last one, had fully intended to leave it for Mito or Abe, but the two of them had insisted he have it. And eventually, after enough back and forth, he’d agreed.

When he climbs into bed that night, he’s well-fed and pleasantly sleepy. No doubt he’ll fall asleep quickly tonight, with a soft pillow beneath his head and a summer breeze coming in through the cracked window. So with a satisfied sigh, Killua closes his eyes.

He finds himself succumbing to the irresistible pull of sleep quickly. His thoughts don’t race, falling into ever more distressing spirals. No, he’s perfectly relaxed and content, and it hardly takes a few minutes before he’s beginning to doze.

Until he hears something.

Killua’s heart begins to hammer in his chest. Yes, it’s most likely nothing--a creak in the floorboards or the hooting of an owl--but he can’t help himself. Even on Whale Island, he can’t fully shake the vigilance that was beaten into him over the years. So although the bed is warm and comfortable, and although he knows he’s most likely overreacting, Killua swiftly opens his eyes.

Immediately, something isn’t right. The room he’s in looks nothing like Gon’s bedroom on Whale Island. He hastily goes to sit up, heart beating even faster now, but finds he can’t. He’s restrained--all four limbs and his head are securely tied down. He tries pulling against them with all of the strength he has, but they hold firm.

Killua clenches his jaw and frantically looks around the room as best he can tied down like this, eyes flitting right and left. Immediately, he goes horribly, sickeningly cold. He knows exactly where he is. This is a room in the Zoldyck estate, one he’s all too familiar with. It’s for training. The kind of training that tends to make a mess. There’s a hose in the corner and a drain installed in the floor. Killua clenches his bound hands. No good ever comes of being in this room.

The far door opens with a grating sound--Killua can’t see it, but he can hear it--and footsteps approach the table where he’s restrained. In spite of himself, Killua’s breath begins to come in quick, frantic pants. Whatever they’re planning, it won’t be good. It’ll be painful and prolonged and horribly cruel. It’s the only reason they ever restrain him in this particular room.

“Hi, Kill,” Illumi says, at last coming into view.

Killua tries to respond, but he finds his mouth can’t open.

“That was very rude of you to run away, you know. To hide out where you thought we couldn’t find you. And to put that poor woman in danger. You really can’t blame us for what we did--you didn’t give us much of a choice.”

Killua wants to shout, wants to demand to know what Illumi means by that, where Mito is and what they’ve done with her, but his mouth stubbornly stays closed. He begins to thrash against his bindings. Perhaps they’ve taped his mouth shut. If he could just get his hand free and remove it, he could ask. He could beg Illumi to tell him what they’ve done with Mito. Killua outgrew begging a long time ago, but he’d make an exception for this. He has to know where she is.

“Now,” Illumi continues, “we’re very happy to have you here with us again, but we have a few matters to attend to before we can truly welcome you back. You ran away, Kill. You hid from us. Those sorts of actions have consequences.”

Killua pulls hard against his restraints. He’s well acquainted with Illumi’s particular version of “consequences,” and it isn’t something he ever wants to endure again. Whatever it is, it’ll be calculated and bloody and agonizing. Of that, he can be completely certain.

Tears begin to well hot in Killua’s eyes. It’s pathetic, he knows, but he doesn’t want to suffer one of Illumi’s punishments again. He doesn’t want to spend days terrified and desperate and hurting. He sounds like a child throwing a tantrum, he knows, all “I want this,” and “I don’t want that,” but he just isn’t sure he could bear any more of Illumi’s torture.

“Now Kill,” Illumi says, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand, seemingly from thin air. “I think we should start with an apology. That’s a good first step towards making things right. You need to tell me how very sorry you are that--”

But Killua doesn’t hear the rest, because the blade meets his skin and Illumi’s voice is drowned out by Killua’s scream.

Killua wakes in bed with a start, straining to sit upright but finding himself tangled in the sheets too badly to manage it. He flops back down against his pillow as his chest heaves up and down, heart pounding so hard that it actually worries him. He does his best to draw in a slow breath, but his ribcage hitches the whole way.

_ Just breathe,  _ he orders himself.  _ It was just a stupid dream. Nothing to be afraid of. It was all in your head. _

Slowly, Killua untangles himself from the sheets--they’re wet and cold with sweat--before he swings his feet around the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor and hands braced against the mattress. It’s fine. None of it was real. Just his pathetic mind playing tricks on him. It’s fine. He’ll go into the kitchen, get a glass of water, splash his face from the sink, and go back to bed. He won’t act like a child, won’t stay up all night crying because of an unpleasant dream. He’ll get a drink, return to bed, and sleep until morning. He  _ will. _

Silencing his footsteps completely, Killua slips out of his bedroom. He’s careful to avoid the creaks in the floorboards. He’d somehow memorized them without even trying, and he’s certain to sneak around them as he creeps through the living room. The last thing he wants is to disturb Mito in the middle of the night like this, not when she’s already done so much for him.

The familiarity of the Freccss’ kitchen is immediately soothing. The white curtains framing the window, the warm golden glow cast by the overhead light, the soothing hum of the refrigerator. It’s cozy and comfortable, nothing like the grey stone walls and frigid cold of the room from his dream. He’s safe here, with the crickets chirping outside and the far-off crash of the waves, just barely audible. There isn’t anything to be afraid of.

Killua takes a glass from the cabinet and fills it from the tap, then begins to gulp it down greedily. He’s strangely thirsty--perhaps from how much he was sweating in his sleep. Regardless, the water is exactly what he needs, and he finds himself draining half the glass in one go.

He feels better already--the warm light of the kitchen, the coolness of the water, the solid floor beneath his feet--they all make the dream seem farther and farther away. He’s here, on Whale Island. People don’t hurt him here. They don’t tie him down. They don’t make such a mess of him that they need a hose to clean things up. He’s safe, he tells himself sternly. He’s perfectly--

“Killua?”

Killua jumps so dramatically that he splashes some of the water down his front, heart leaping into his throat, and spins around towards the voice.

It’s just Mito. Of course it is. Killua recognized her voice; he didn’t  _ really  _ think it was one of his family members, here to drag him back home and tie him down like they had in that dream. It just took him by surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Mito says, her eyes soft and gentle. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” Killua replies, doing his utmost to keep his voice steady. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be there. I really tried not to wake you.”

Mito shakes her head.

“You didn’t wake me.”

Killua tugs at the hem of his t-shirt and tightens his grip on the glass of water, feeling strangely exposed.

“I’m okay,” Killua says, his speech strangely stilted. “I was just getting a drink. You can go back to bed.”

Mito’s quiet for just a moment, eyes surveying Killua intently.

“You had a bad dream.”

It isn’t a question, so Killua doesn’t think it’ll be any use to deny it. Instead, he merely shrugs.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Mito offers.

Killua hesitates.

“Why?”

“I’ll make you something to drink. To help you sleep.”

Killua’s skin grows flushed and warm with a strange shame.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says, folding his arms in front of himself. “I’m fine.”

“I know. But it would make me feel better.”

Killua clenches his jaw. For a long moment, he’s quiet. Mito is looking at him with that expression he’d recognized before, the unwavering resolution he’s seen in Gon a hundred times. There’s no winning against her when she’s like this--that stalwart determination clearly runs in the family.

“Fine,” he says quietly, taking a seat at the table.

Killua sits stiffly, not so much as touching the back of the chair, as Mito rummages in the cabinet for a small saucepan, then pours some milk into it and sets it on the stove. Killua watches her closely. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Tension, maybe? Frustration that she has to look after him like this in the middle of the night? According to the clock in the kitchen, it’s a little past two in the morning. Surely she must feel some kind of annoyance at being dragged out of bed for something this ridiculous.

But whatever irritation Killua’s looking for, he doesn’t find it. Mito stays perfectly relaxed as she heats the milk, her movements slow and predictable. And she smiles as she scoops cocoa powder and sugar into a mug, and, in Killua’s opinion, stirs in the hot milk and sets down the mug in front of him especially gently.

Killua looks at the mug for a long moment. He must be misunderstanding something. She wouldn’t really do this sort of thing, fix him a drink in the middle of the night without even a hint of anger with him. He half expects her to snatch the mug away, having changed her mind about indulging something so pathetic. But she doesn’t. She simply takes a seat at the table and waits, not asking anything of Killua, not expecting anything. So at last, when he’s certain she actually means this, he wraps both of his hands around the mug and takes a sip. The hot chocolate is delicious, comforting and warm and perfectly sweet. Before he can stop himself, he takes another sip, bigger this time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mito asks.

Killua puts the mug down.

“No. Not really.”

Killua takes another sip. Mito was right--the warm, sweet drink is helping even more than the water had, sending a soothing heat out from his stomach and down each of his limbs.

“You can go back to bed, you know. I’m sure I’ll be able to go back to sleep soon.”

“I’ll go to bed soon,” Mito replies. “But I know I won’t be able to sleep unless I’m certain you’re alright.”

Killua is too bewildered to reply. This sort of thing isn’t possible. Why would Mito care if he was still shaken after a nightmare? Why would it bother her badly enough to keep her up at night? She can’t be serious about any of this. No reasonable person would.

But Mito sounds entirely genuine, not frustrated or annoyed in the slightest. She merely smiles. And then slowly, so slowly, she brings her hand to rest on Killua’s back. Killua stiffens at first, unsure what she’s doing, but as she begins to rub slow, gentle circles over the fabric of his t-shirt, he finds himself relaxing in spite of his best efforts. He can’t help it--the slow, gentle pressure of her hand on his back drains the last of the tension from his body.

And it’s pathetic. All of it is so unbelievably pathetic. Killua isn’t a child. He isn’t someone who needs to be comforted like this, with gentle touches and warm drinks and soft words. He’s endured pain and cruelty and torture for as long as he can remember, has torn out men’s throats with a smile. He doesn’t need to be soothed and pampered after a bad dream.

But the fact remains, shameful and humiliating as it is, that he likes it. He hates himself for it, tries to will himself out of it, but it doesn’t change anything. He likes being cared about like this. He likes being touched kindly. Perhaps it’s merely the contrast--the unflinching brutality he endured in his dream and the achingly gentle attention he’s being shown now, but he revels in the kindness, and before he can stop himself, he breathes out a slow, shaky sigh.

It’s almost an embarrassment of kindnesses, slowly sipping a hot drink he was made while someone rubs soothing circles on his back. It’s the sort of thing that seems downright impossible, to be looked after this way, with such selfless attention. He feels so warm, and so weightless, and so relaxed. The dream feels like a distant memory now. He struggles even to remember the details. There’s only this--the warm light of the kitchen and the sweetness of the hot chocolate and the comforting pressure and warmth on his back. Feeling as he does now, it’s hard to believe the cold stone room of his dream could ever exist.

“How are you feeling now?” Mito asks softly, when Killua has at last finished the hot chocolate.

Killua blinks blearily. It’s hard to keep his eyes open--the warmth and relaxation are so overwhelming that he’s certain he could fall asleep right here at the kitchen table if he let himself.

“Better,” he murmurs. “I could sleep now.”

“Good,” Mito says, and Killua can hear the smile in her voice.

Mito finally pulls her hand back from Killua’s back and takes his mug to the dishwasher. Killua can’t help but miss the affection. He’d never had that sort of thing from his family. No one had ever stroked his hair, or held him, or kissed his forehead, or rubbed his back to help him relax, and he finds that he loves it. He loves feeling cared about and looked after and comforted. He wants more of it. He knows it’s wrong, to ask for anything else when he’s already been given so much, but he can’t help it. The affection is so wonderful, wonderful in a way he can’t ever recall feeling before.

“If anything else happens tonight, you come get me, okay?”

Killua merely nods slowly, too relaxed to think of refusing.

“Sleep well, Killua.”

And Killua does sleep well. When he crawls back beneath the blankets in the bedroom, he’s so perfectly drowsy that he falls asleep in mere minutes, and his sleep is deep and dreamless and wholly peaceful until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, i am replying to comments & am available to holler at via [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/)!!!! i know i'm a little behind on comment replies across all of my fics, but i'm currently dealing with some irl stuff that's making it hard to keep up with them. pls pls don't worry or anything!!! i just want you to know that while i may be slower to reply, i promise i am not ignoring them & will get back to you as soon as i can!!!!
> 
> take good care until i see you all again!!!! xo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy pals!!!!! thank you as always for the lovely comments on the last ch!!!! they truly never fail to bring me a smile!!!!
> 
> no massive warnings for this ch. someone's held at gunpoint, tho, in case anyone doesn't like that sort of thing. it truly happens for all of three seconds, but i always try to err on the side of giving people the heads up!!!
> 
> alright, pls enjoy!!!!

Downtown Whale Island is undeniably quaint.

Killua’s never really been one for small towns. The small, tightly packed storefronts and narrow streets have only ever made him feel claustrophobic. He prefers big cities, where he can slip into a crowd unnoticed, or a forest, where he can swiftly scale a tree if he needs to make a quick escape. But he inexplicably finds himself liking downtown Whale Island. Perhaps it’s that he can catch glimpses of the ocean through some of the alleyways that keeps him from feeling suffocated, or perhaps it’s that the passersby smile at him on the street in a manner that feels truly genuine, or perhaps it’s that there are shops selling sailing gear in addition to the usual ice cream parlors and general stores. But whatever the reason, he finds he doesn’t mind it here.

Killua’s nearly finished organizing the shed in the backyard and had a few boxes of things to cart down to the second-hand shop. Mito went with him--there were a few tailoring projects she had to drop off, and apparently they necessitated an in-person discussion with the store owner--so she and Killua had made the half hour walk downtown together. Fortunately, the heat is largely bearable today--there’s a particular chill to the wind and grey to the sky that suggests a storm is on the way, but provided they make it home before the rain, the break from the sweltering June heat is a blessing.

As soon as Killua had dropped off the boxes and emerged with a receipt in hand, Mito had insisted upon buying them ice cream at the shop on the corner. Initially, he’d resisted--it’s not like he’s a little kid who needs a treat to ensure his cooperation while running errands, and besides, she’s already given him more than he can ever repay--but he’d given in eventually. Killua simply isn’t the sort of person who can refuse sweets. And as he finishes the last of the ice cream cone on the bench outside the tailor’s shop, he’ll admit that it was the right call. The ice cream is delicious and creamy and rich--far better than the stuff he’d buy from the freezer section of the grocery store. And chasing the drops that spill over the edge of the cone while watching the crowd mill about on the sidewalk is an admittedly pleasant way to spend the afternoon.

There’s the beleaguered father with three children in tow and one more in a stroller. The elderly couple holding hands and stopping to admire every single store window. The pale, anxious looking teenager in the large dark sweatshirt lurking near the bookstore. The young woman walking the extremely poorly behaved dog, who insists up jumping on anyone who comes to pet him. Killua likes to watch them, catch snatches of conversation here and there and get small glimpses into their lives. He’d learned to observe people as an assassin, how to look for weaknesses he might be able to exploit, but this is different. This isn’t a matter of assessing threats. It’s simply idle fun, simply a peek into the rich, varied lives of the residents of the island.

“Ready to go?” Mito asks, emerging from the tailor’s shop putting a stack of Jenny into her wallet and carrying the now-empty garment bags.

Killua pops the last bit of the cone into his mouth.

“Yeah, let’s get back before the storm hits.”

They chat as they head out of town, away from the busy, bustling main street and onto a smaller unpaved road. Killua hadn’t really been good at talking to Mito at first. What exactly did the two of them have in common? But he’s found, over the past few weeks, that there’s plenty for them to discuss. He likes hearing about Gon’s childhood adventures, or an explanation of the chemistry behind certain recipes, or the local town gossip. And Killua, in turn, finds stories to tell. He avoids anything especially gruesome, but there’s enough in his past that isn’t wholly bloodstained. Enough to make Mito laugh, or gasp in surprise, or scold him for his recklessness. Killua was never able to have these sorts of lighthearted conversations with his own parents, but with Mito, it comes perfectly naturally.

“--so it turned out that she’d been embezzling from the store the whole time,” Mito says, relaying another one of the town’s especially legendary scandals. “Ten Jenny a day for twenty five years. It was so little that no one caught on at the time, but it adds up over-- hey!”

There’s something genuinely frightened in Mito’s voice and Killua whips around. Someone’s grabbed her by the wrist, the other hand clenched around a gun. Killua goes abruptly cold, and then dizzyingly hot.

It’s that teenager from the bookstore, the one in the sweatshirt that’s too heavy for the weather. Gods, Killua was an idiot. He should’ve been alerted by the oddly shaped clothes, or by the way his eyes kept darting from person to person on the street in a manner that wasn’t entirely innocent, or by the unusual tension in his body. And he should’ve noticed that they were being followed. He was simply too caught up in his conversation with Mito, too certain that Whale Island was safe, too goddamn careless. He lowers his guard for one moment, ignores his training for even the briefest period, and this is what happens. Killua clenches his fists until his nails bite into his palm.

“Your wallet,” the teenager says, his voice almost comically low. He’s clearly trying to sound older than he really is. “Now.”

His grip around the gun is visibly inexperienced, and it shakes slightly in his hand, but it doesn’t matter. Something thick and white-hot floods into Killua’s stomach and straight through his veins. He doesn’t care if this kid has never robbed anyone before, or what the motive is behind it, or how clearly uncomfortable it’s making him. Because Mito has gone very pale and her eyes have gone very wide. She’s frightened. And that Killua cannot forgive.

So in an instant, Killua knocks the gun from the teenager’s hand and steps behind him, grabbing both of his wrists behind his back so hard he can feel the bones grating in his grip. And then Killua shifts his hand into a blade in that old, practiced way and presses it hard to his throat.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Killua demands, his voice low and dangerous. He’s certain the teenager can sense the sheer rage coming off his body in waves. Killua can feel him shaking in his grasp. But he pays it no mind. His ears are ringing and his vision is clouding and he can’t find it within himself to care if this kid is terrified out of his mind. He should be. Killua will ensure it.

The teenager begins to thrash in Killua’s grasp, trying to get away. Killua merely presses his hand hard enough into his throat to draw a single drop of blood, trailing down the pale column of his throat. Instantly, he stills. Good--Killua wants him to understand exactly where he stands in this situation.

“You’re going to hold someone at gunpoint?” Killua growls, teeth clenched. “You’re going to threaten someone like that?”

The teenager draws in a sharp, shaky breath.

“Are you scared right now?” Killua demands. “I could slit your throat in an instant. I make one single wrong move and I could kill you. Does that make you feel scared? Answer--now!”

The teenager nods slowly.

“So how do you think someone feels when you pull a gun on them? Do you think they feel scared?”

The teenager nods again.

“Killua.”

It’s Mito. Killua blinks. He’d all but forgotten she was here. His vision had tunneled so badly that he could hardly see anything besides the trembling body in his grasp. But Mito’s here. Watching all of this with an odd, wide-eyed expression. It makes something strangely like shame twist at Killua insides.

“Just let him go,” Mito continues, her voice low and even. “Let’s not overreact here.”

“But he  _ hurt  _ you,” Killua snarls. He presses his hand harder into the teenager’s throat, drawing another slow, singular drop of blood.

“I’m not hurt. Look.” Mito holds up her hands, palms out. “I’m totally fine.”

“But he  _ scared  _ you.”

“And I’m quite certain I’ll survive it. Besides, I think you’ve more than repaid him for that by now, don’t you?”

Killua clenches his jaw, and lets out a slow, hard breath.

“Guess it’s your lucky day, huh?” he growls, tightening his grasp around the teenager’s wrists until he winces. “But listen to me. You ever do something like this again--you scare someone, you threaten to hurt them? You so much as step on a fucking cockroach? I’ll know. And you won’t get off this easily twice.”

“Killua,” Mito says--not angry, but firm. “I think that’s enough.”

With a sigh, Killua spins around so that his captive is facing back towards downtown.

“Go,” Killua says, shoving him out of his grasp. He doesn’t push him hard enough to fall, but enough that he has to take a few fast, stumbling steps to stay on his feet. “And don’t so much as think about looking back until you’re back to town.”

The teenager doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off at a clumsy sprint, dashing down the road so fast he kicks up dust behind himself. Killua watches him until he’s out of sight, and then grabs the discarded gun from the ground, swiftly unloading it, and tossing the magazine and gun as hard as he can in opposite directions into the forest surrounding the road.

“Well, I think he just learned a valuable lesson about the consequences of a life of crime,” Mito says. “Are you okay, Killua?”

Killua’s brow furrows.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Mito reaches out a hand and rests it on Killua’s shoulder.

“I’m perfectly fine. But I think out of the two of us, you took that much harder. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Killua stares down at the dirt road, shame burning hot up from his stomach and through his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I was just really angry, but I got carried away.”

Mito shakes her head.

“You don’t have to apologize. No one got hurt. No harm done. But I get the sense you try to protect people. And that’s a very good, admirable quality to have. You just have to make sure it doesn’t get the best of you. Even wonderful qualities start to sour if you take them too far.”

Killua nods just as the thunder begins to roll and rumble overhead.

“Let’s hurry home so we can beat the rain,” Mito says.

Killua nods again.

“And thank you, Killua. For protecting me. I’m very grateful that you would do that sort of thing for me.”

The hot, thick shame is replaced by something else. Something warmer and lighter and far less suffocating. And so, with the hint of a smile, Killua heads down the dirt road in the hazy, humid summer air.

* * *

Killua and Mito just barely beat the rain. The first few drops begin to fall as they head up the gravel path to the Freecss’ front door, and by the time they’ve taken off their shoes and closed the door behind themselves, it’s a complete downpour. Lightning flashes bright and sudden outside the window, and the wind begins to rattle the window panes. And after an hour and a half of the torrential rain and intermittent, house-shaking thunder, the power quite suddenly flickers off.

The house grows very quiet without the hum of the appliances or the sound of the air conditioning. Killua hadn’t realized how much white noise there was in the house, but the sudden stillness is jarring. The rain pounds ever-harder on the roof, amplified by the silence, but Killua can’t help but feel a strange sense of coziness. Yes, the house is very dim, only illuminated by the grey light from outside, and Killua finds that the Internet and cell service have gone down as well, but he doesn’t feel trapped. It almost strikes him as fun, to be without power for a while. Like a sort of adventure.

Killua heads into the kitchen, and Mito is already lighting lanterns and candles with practiced ease.

“Does this happen often?” Killua asks.

Mito’s smile is even warmer in the golden candlelight.

“Sometimes. We get bad storms in the summer, and the island is so small and rural that our power lines are outdated even at the best of times. It’ll take them a while to get it back up--someone has to come over from the mainland to fix it. I hope you don’t mind it too much.”

“No. It’s not the end of the world.”

Mito strikes another match, the flame flaring bright in the dim light.

“We have a lot of board games, if you want to play.”

Killua smiles. He can’t recall ever having played a real board game before, but it sounds like fun.

“Absolutely,” he says.

“I won’t go easy on you,” Mito warns.

“Bring it on,” Killua replies.

* * *

Killua loses miserably at Scrabble. Mito and Abe are impossibly good, playing words Killua’s never even heard before and knowing just how to use the board to their advantage. And, true to their word, they absolutely don’t go easy on him. No, they seem to take immense pleasure in finishing the round with scores that are at least double Killua’s. No wonder Gon is so competitive--it’s bound to be in his blood. Mito and Abe are utterly merciless.

But Killua finds he doesn’t mind losing. No, sitting at the kitchen table, the room illuminated by the flickering glow of the candles, the rain pounding hard on the roof outside, the three of them playing endless games of Scrabble, laughing and teasing each other, leaves Killua with a warm, buoyant, weightless sort of feeling. Winning the game is far less important than enjoying the company, than joking with Mito over cups of tea, than their smiles warmed by the candlelight.

When Killua goes to bed that night, it strikes him that he can’t recall a place he’s ever felt more at home. Even the smell of the house is comforting by now. It’s nothing like the cold stone floors and vaulted ceilings and echoing hallways of his family’s estate. Despite only having stayed here for a month, it’s far easier to think of the Freecss’ house as his home than the large, imposing house where he grew up.

By the time he wakes the next morning, the rain has finally stopped, but the power and cell service are still down. Mito had said it would take a while for them to fix the downed lines, and Killua supposes they can make do for now. He’d almost finished organizing the shed in the backyard yesterday, and by the time the sun begins to sink over the horizon, he’s just completed the last of it. He smiles as he surveys his work. The project had seemed completely insurmountable when he first began, but with enough slow, steady effort, he’d managed to organize everything. He can’t help the bright glow of satisfaction in his chest as he heads in the back door.

And when he does step inside, he’s greeted by the familiar hum of appliances and the bright illumination of the overhead lights. The power must’ve come back on in the last few hours he’d spent outside. Finishing the shed, the return of the power--they say good things come in threes, don’t they? Perhaps Killua has one more instance of good fortune awaiting him today.

Back in his room, Killua plugs his phone into the outlet. It’s several years old by now, and the battery is going, so it had died overnight. He’d missed Gon’s check in text yesterday, but he’ll power it back on and ensure everything is alright.

As soon as his phone turns back on, he’s bombarded with notifications. Dozens of texts begin to pour in, so fast that the alerts begin overlapping. Then come the missed calls and voicemails, one after the other. There have to be at least twenty in total. All from Gon.

White hot terror floods Killua’s stomach so fast he almost feels sick. He does his best to reassure himself. It’s possible Gon simply wanted to show him a dozen pictures of some rocks he found yesterday. That would be just like him, wouldn’t it? It’s entirely possible that Gon simply bombarded him with texts and calls because he was bored, isn’t it?

Yes, Killua knows he’s simply deluding himself. His instincts are good enough by now to know that these endless missed calls and texts most likely spell total disaster. But he doesn’t want them to. As he presses play on the first voicemail, he simply wishes, with the whole force of his being, that everything is alright. As if wishing alone would somehow be enough to change anything.

_ “Killua, you’ve got to get off the island. You remember the plan, right? You need to take Mito and Abe and go. You can’t spare even a second. You need to get to the safehouse right now.” _

Gon’s voice is high and strained and a strange tension clenches around Killua’s lungs, practically squeezing the air out of him. He listens to the next voicemail.

_ “Killua, I don’t know why you’re not answering your phone. I can’t get through to Mito either, so I’m guessing it might be something to do with the cell service in the area. Christ, what a time for the service to go out. I’m just going to keep calling until I’ve filled up your voicemail inbox. I mean, what else am I gonna do?” _

Heart hammering in his chest, Killua plays the next voicemail.

_ “Your mom is on the way, Killua. She’s traveling by a high-speed airship, so I think we’ve got a day at most before she’s at the front door. You’ve got to go. The moment you get this message, go. I’m going to try to beat her there, but the odds of that actually happening are basically zero. I don’t really know what else to say. I’m gonna keep calling, though. Just get out of there. Please.” _

Something about the urgency of that last message breaks Killua from his daze. He can’t waste time sitting here and listening to each of Gon’s voicemails. He knows what he has to do. Get Mito, get Abe, and leave. He doesn’t have the luxury of panicking right now. He has to be efficient and levelheaded, just like he’s been trained. He can handle a crisis. He doesn’t really have another choice.

So Killua leaps up from the bed and heads towards the kitchen. Most likely Mito is in there cooking dinner. They have emergency bags packed for this exact situation. All he has to do is grab them and follow the plan. He has the steps committed to memory by now. The escape route through the woods. The discreet, off-the-books ship Gon has on standby to take them off the island. The safehouse Kurapika arranged. There’s still time to avert a crisis, Killua tells himself sternly. There’s still a chance they escape unscathed.

But the second Killua steps into the living room and begins towards the kitchen, the doorbell rings. Killua freezes exactly where he is, the hot, sudden rush of panic flooding out from his stomach and down each of his limbs, immobilizing him.

A thick, acrid smoke is suffocating him, burning down his throat and searing his lungs. He can’t breathe, or move, or speak, not with this strange gas choking him. All he can manage to think, over and over, is that it’s his fault. It’s his fault for coming here, for putting Mito and Abe in danger like this. What happens next is his doing and his alone. Because Killua knows his mother. Never in her life has she shown mercy, and certainly not for a transgression as serious as showing Killua kindness. Killua knows exactly how this sort of thing goes, knows that it ends vicious and violent and bloody, and he knows that he's the one to blame.

And by the time the dizzying haze has cleared from Killua’s mind enough that he can speak again, it’s too late. Mito is already opening the door and warmly asking how she can help their visitor. Killua takes off down the hall like a shot, vision tunneling and ears ringing, just in time to hear an unmistakable voice, sickly sweet and venomous.

“Is Killua here? I was wondering if I might be able to speak with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't know what it is about me & cliffhangers, but i'm truly sorry.
> 
> anyway, it's nearly thanksgiving here in the us & i hope everyone who's celebrating stays safe & enjoys the holiday!!!! as always, thank you so much for reading!!!! still replying to comments, still available via tumblr, etc etc. looking forward to our conclusion next week!!!!! xo


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise!!!! i'm posting the final ch of this fic two days early for a number of reasons that basically all boil down to me needing the sweet, sweet serotonin of posting some fanfic tonight. and hopefully it's also a nice surprise for anyone who might've been following this story!!!!
> 
> before we get into the Epic Mom Showdown, i do want to make people aware that this chapter gets much more intense than previous ones. **there's typical zoldyck emotional manipulation & general garbage behavior as well as onscreen character injury.** there's a happy ending & nobody gets permanently hurt, but it's a little rough in the middle. just wanted to give everybody the warning.
> 
> other than that, pls enjoy!!!! i really really hope you enjoy our conclusion!!!

Killua dashes down the hall, vision going narrower and narrower until he can see nothing but Mito’s figure, silhouetted in the doorway, and the looming shadow cast by his mother.

“May I know who’s asking?” Mito says. Her tone is ostensibly polite, but Killua can sense the steel beneath her words. That’s no good, he thinks, heart leaping into his throat. Mito shouldn’t be thinking of standing up to his mother. It would be just like her, to do something so ill-advisedly stubborn, to insist upon protecting Killua. And his mother wouldn’t take kindly to it. Of that, Killua is completely certain.

“Oh, Killua, dear, there you are!” his mother coos as soon as Killua’s in sight.

Up close, the contrast between Mito and her is staggering. Kikyo stands at least a foot taller than Mito, and the enormous hoop skirt makes her form twice as wide. She completely dwarfs Mito, in size and in presence and in sheer bloodlust. But Mito either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She stands up straight, feet planted wide and chin raised, as if she doesn’t have anything to fear.

“I’ll go,” Killua says. The words come out shaky and a bit too fast. “Mom, if you promise not to do anything to Mito, I’ll come home. I won’t put up a fight. I won’t make a fuss. You just have to promise me that nobody else will get hurt. Promise me that, and I’ll come with you. I swear.”

It’s a last-ditch effort, the desperate prayer of someone completely cornered. And most likely it won’t be enough. But Killua has to try.

“Absolutely not,” Mito says. She’s keeping herself quite deliberately between Killua and his mother, refusing to let Killua step past.

“What do you mean?” Killua asks, his voice still unsteady.

“I’m not letting you leave with her, Killua. I won’t let you go anywhere with someone who hurts you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Killua’s mother demands, drawing herself up to her full height. “Surely you aren’t implying what I think you are.”

Mito turns back to Killua and places a hand on his shoulder, still quite clearly keeping herself between Killua and his mother.

“I’m not stupid,” she says softly. “I know you never said anything directly, but you didn’t have to. And I’m not going to let them keep hurting you. I’m just not.”

His mother gasps, the sound almost theatrically scandalized. Killua jumps in spite of himself.

“How could you say such awful things? You’re making it sound like I would actually be mean to Killua. I’d never dare mistreat him in my life. Go on, Killua. Tell her. Explain that everything I’ve done has only ever been for your own good.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have excuses,” Mito spits, turning back towards his mother. Killua’s never heard her sound so utterly furious, her voice high and tense and trembling with anger. “People who hurt their children always do. It’s always something like that. Something like ‘I did it for your own good,’ or ‘you forced my hand,’ or whatever else you use to justify it. It doesn’t change a goddamn thing. It doesn’t make hurting someone right.”

Although his mother’s face is concealed by the visor and bandages, Killua can read the slope of her shoulders well enough to tell that she’s growing angry. And no good can come of that.

“Mito, please,” he begs. “It’s fine. Just let me leave with her. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

The stubborn gleam of determination in Mito’s eye doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“But they’ll hurt you, won’t they? If you go back home?”

Killua scrubs his hands down his face. They’re running out of time. Surely his mother’s temper won’t hold much longer, and Killua knows exactly what happens once she reaches her limit. He has to get out of here, as swiftly as he can manage.

“It doesn’t matter if they hurt me! I’ll survive whatever they decide to do. You might not.”

Mito crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“It matters to me.”

“Please,” Killua begs, his voice cracking in sheer desperation. “She’ll kill you. Why can’t you understand that? She wouldn’t hesitate. You’ve got to let me leave.”

“Killua,” his mother snaps. “What exactly do you think you’re saying? Are you trying to suggest that I’m cruel? That I’m violent and unpredictable? How could you say such awful things about your own mother?”

Killua’s close to collapse. His whole body is trembling too badly for him to stay on his feet for much longer and his breath is coming so fast and shallow that he’s getting dizzy. He can’t help but picture Mito, a gash across her throat, her skin pale and clammy, bleeding out in the doorway. His mother is only getting angrier. The air is only crackling with more tension. The limit is only approaching faster.

“Killua,” his mother says, her tone sickly sweet. “You know I don’t enjoy waiting. The longer you stay here, the more I’ll need you to apologize once we’re home.”

Killua’s stomach goes hollow. He knows the exact nature of his mother’s version of an apology, and he doesn’t want to endure it ever again.

“Don’t you dare even think of threatening him,” Mito snaps, her voice colder than Killua’s ever heard it.

And then all at once, the air shifts. The hairs along Killua’s arms raise with an uncomfortable prickling sensation. The breeze grows colder. The world quiets. And Killua knows.

“I think I’ve heard enough of this.” His mother is no longer using the sweet, cajoling tone. Her voice is low and even and deadly. “I don’t know where you get to thinking you have a say in how I raise my children. Family matters are personal, and I think you need to learn to respect other people’s privacy.”

The whole world suddenly slows to quarter-speed. His mother’s hand raises an inch at a time, shifting into something sharp and wicked. Mito stares, wide-eyed and defenseless. She doesn’t try to dodge or block the blow. Most likely her reflexes wouldn’t be quick enough to manage it anyway. She just stands there, rooted to the spot and still determinedly in front of Killua, as his mother’s razor-sharp hand draws nearer and nearer.

And Killua doesn’t stop to think. He acts on pure instinct, on nothing but the unwavering certainty that he can’t allow any harm to come to Mito. So in a flash, he pulls her back from the doorway and turns them both so that back is to his mother and he’s able to shield Mito with his body.

The gash down his back doesn’t hurt. Or perhaps it does, but the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body makes the pain seem distant and hazy, as if it were already a memory. And as Killua’s knees give way, he knows that this was the right choice. With the Nen barrier around his body, the cut was merely superficial, only a inch or so into his flesh and missing his spine entirely. Were it anyone else, their organs would be sheared clean in half.

As Killua collapses, he keeps Mito in his grasp. He can still protect her like this, managing to shield her body with his, hovering above her on the floor. He’s had worse than this from his mother before--a thousand times worse. He’ll keep enduring it, as many blows as necessary, provided he’s sparing Mito.

But the next strike doesn’t come. For a moment, everything is utterly still and silent, so quiet Killua hears nothing but his own ragged breaths and the occasional drip of blood onto the floor. And then his mother shrieks, high and horrified and warbling.

“Killua! What were you thinking? Did you not learn a single thing from your training? To jump into harm’s way like that, and for absolutely no good reason. I would have thought you knew better than that by now!”

The world is beginning to go somewhat blurry before Killua’s eyes, most likely from the bloodloss. Perhaps the wound was more serious than he thought. But he can’t afford to pass out now, not with his mother still here. Not with Mito still needing protection.

“Please,” Killua manages. “Mom, please don’t. Not Mito. I’ll do anything. But please. Don’t hurt her.”

He’s pressed up on his hands and knees over Mito and his arms have begun to tremble violently, threatening to give out completely.  _ Not now. You have to stay awake for just a bit longer. Long enough to leave with Mom before she does anything else. _

“I can’t believe you’d defy me like this, Killua.” His mother’s voice has begun to tremble, edging closer to hysteria. “I can’t believe you’d do something so foolish. Clearly I’ve failed as a mother. I haven’t managed to teach you anything at all.”

No, she hadn’t managed to teach him anything, Killua thinks bitterly. He’d ensured that, no matter how mercilessly she tried to ingrain the lesson.

Killua’s right arm goes out beneath him, and he only just manages to catch himself before he falls. His mother hitches a loud, unsteady sob.

“You could never lead the Zoldyck family, not if you’re going to behave like this.”

Killua takes a deep, steadying breath. This is it then, the point at which she explains that Killua will have to go home with her and re-learn what he clearly missed the first time around. No doubt the lessons will be cruel and prolonged, bloody and excruciating, but it’s fine. He’ll accept any amount of pain they wish to inflict on him if it keeps Mito safe. He’ll be grateful for it, really, provided she’s spared.

“You’ve broken my heart, Killua.” His mother’s voice only shakes more with each word. She sounds truly upset, not just putting on a show to make him feel guilty. “To see that my life’s work has amounted to nothing. To see what you’ve become. I’ll never forgive myself.”

His mother sobs, sounding more anguished than Killua can ever recall, and then her skirt rustles with movement and her steps begin to retreat down the gravel path away from the Freecss’ front door.

With a tremendous effort, Killua turns around and sits up, no longer shielding Mito, just in time to see his mother’s unmistakable silhouette disappear behind the crest of the hill.

She left? Killua’s thoughts are slow and clumsy, so it’s hard to piece much together, but that’s how it appears, at least. Like she’d seen Killua’s reaction, seen his willingness to bleed provided Mito was spared, and simply accepted him as a lost cause. He can hardly believe his luck. All it took to keep Mito safe was a single wound, and hardly the worst one he’s had. Killua allows himself to slump back against the wall, relieved, but careful to avoid the gash on his back. There, that’s better. Sitting up unassisted was beginning to be a strain.

“Killua?” Mito says softly, getting up from the floor and reaching a slow hand out towards Killua. She brushes his hair back from his forehead, and Killua does his utmost not to lean into it. Her hand is so soft and warm against his clammy skin. “Honey, it’s going to be okay. I promise. I’m going to go get the phone, and I’ll bring it right back to call an ambulance. I won’t even be ten seconds. Just hang on for ten seconds, and I’ll be right back.”

Killua nods slowly. She’s making a bit of a fuss over this, but it’s oddly nice. She seems worried as she dashes into the kitchen for the phone, and Killua can’t help but like that. He likes that someone’s worried that he’s hurt.

Mito’s true to her word--she’s back in a matter of moments. At least, as far as Killua can tell; time has started to blur and bend in that funny way, so he doesn’t have a very clear sense of those sorts of things anymore.

Killua supposes he could make out Mito’s words on the phone if he paid attention, but he isn’t sure he wants to muster up the strength to try. Instead, he focuses on just the cadence of her voice--it’s measured and calm, but insistent. He likes that; it makes him feel certain that things will be okay.

When the phone call ends, Mito sounds satisfied, so Killua imagines it went well. And then she joins him on the floor, gingerly wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“I’m gonna bleed all over your shirt,” he murmurs. He really doesn’t want to make any more trouble for Mito, not after what a disaster the evening has been already.

“Believe me when I say that that is the absolute least of my concerns at the moment.”

Killua tries to open his eyes, but they’re suddenly impossibly heavy.

“Bleeding all over the hall,” he manages. “It’s gonna be a mess.”

Mito pulls him closer and presses a kiss to his hair.

“You are really going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” she says, very fond and just a bit unsteady. “Don’t worry about that right now, okay? The only thing you need to worry about is hanging in there until the ambulance arrives. Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Good. You’re doing so good. We’re gonna be fine; I promise. You just take it easy, alright? You’ve been so brave, Killua. Probably braver than any of us really know. But that’s over now. You can relax. It’s all going to be okay.”

Killua likes how softly Mito’s speaking to him, and he likes being held so gently. He allows himself to lean heavier against her, focusing on nothing but the slow, soothing sound of her voice, reassuring him over and over that things will be okay. He feels certain they will; Mito’s promised, after all, and she wouldn’t lie to him. So he really can relax now. He’s safe here. He’s protected.

The last thing Killua hears is the approaching sirens before the world finally goes dark.

* * *

Consciousness comes to Killua slowly. At first, there’s nothing more than sensations. The beep of a heart rate monitor. A cheap, somewhat scratchy blanket. A low ache in his back. Then there’s the beginnings of memories, far-off and hazy. His mother arriving at the house, her imposing figure framed in the doorway. An altercation of some sort. An injury. And at last, there’s awareness. The argument, Mito’s stalwart protection, the gash on his back when he’d leapt in front of her, his mother retreating down the gravel path, clinging to consciousness in the Freecss’ front hall--it comes back to Killua in a rush, so vivid and intense it’s almost dizzying.

Slowly, Killua manages to blink open his eyes. Like he’d assumed, he’s in a hospital. There’s the various monitors, the bag of IV fluids dripping steadily above his head, the soft, neutral colors. And seated in a chair beside his bed, reading a paperback book, is Mito.

Killua isn’t really sure what to say, so he settles for shifting himself to sit up in the bed, hoping the movement will be enough to alert her. And it is--Mito puts the books down and smiles at him, so warmly Killua can’t look at it for long.

“How are you feeling?” she asks gently.

Killua considers it for a moment.

“Not that bad, really. My back’s a bit sore, but I’ve had worse.”

“Believe it or not, that isn’t as comforting as you’d like it to be.”

Killua’s quiet. There’s so much he wants to say that he isn’t sure where to begin.

“You’ll make a full recovery,” Mito continues. “The doctor said she’d never seen anything like it, the way your body could heal itself. Said you were a biological marvel and couldn’t figure out how it was happening. And don’t worry--I didn’t give her any hints.”

Killua manages to smile, but then they both fall silent. A strange, implacable tension hovers in the air between them. Killua picks slowly at the lint on the blanket, not meeting Mito’s eyes.

“I owe you an apology, Killua,” Mito says at last.

Killua’s blinks, brow furrowing.

“What for?”

Mito pauses for a moment.

“For one thing, you got hurt trying to protect me,” she says at last. “But more than that, I shouldn’t have interfered the way I did. As you grow older, you start to realize that these sorts of situations are complicated. That if someone’s being hurt like that, charging in headfirst and confronting the person hurting them usually does more harm than good. You have to be more careful than I was, or you can end up making things worse.”

“I was so angry,” Mito continues, “and so afraid of what they might do to you that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t stop to consider my options, didn’t try to formulate a plan to approach the situation delicately. I just didn’t want you to leave with her; that was the only focus I had, and it made me reckless. So I want to apologize. You didn’t just get hurt because you leapt in front of me. Part of it was because I didn’t handle the situation thoughtfully. And I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, Killua’s quiet, entirely unsure of how to respond. Mito risked her life for him, was quite literally all that stood between him and unfathomable violence, and her instinct is to  _ apologize  _ to him?

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Killua says at last, still not quite meeting Mito’s eyes. “If I’d have left with her, it would’ve been worse. A lot worse. I actually got off easy, all things considered. I… I want to thank you, more than anything. People don’t usually stand up to my family. Especially on my behalf. It was one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

The last sentence comes out hardly above a whisper, but it’s the best Killua can do. He grips the blanket tight in his fists, bunching up the fabric.

“I’d do it again,” Mito says. “A hundred times over. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re okay.”

“You realize I’ve killed people, right? A lot of people.”

It’s an extremely weak attempt at humor, and Killua’s cheeks flush in shame the moment he says it. But Mito merely smiles and reaches over to gently brush Killua’s hair back from his forehead.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says softly. “I’ll keep you safe, Killua. That’s a promise.”

And although he’s not sure why, given that Mito’s probably never so much as thrown a punch, Killua finds that he can’t help but believe her entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everybody who has joined me with this fic!!!! it's been a blast to share it all with you & your kind words have really brought me a lot of joy these past several weeks!!!!
> 
> as always, treasuring and replying to comments & available to holler at via [tumblr](https://storybookprincess.tumblr.com/)!!! thank you so so very much for reading!!! xo


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